


"he's beautiful."

by loghain



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 13:41:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1690337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loghain/pseuds/loghain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Kieren,” Simon murmurs, breaking the deep monotony with which Kieren is cleaning his face. He seems less a boy now, all that coiled anger straightening out his spine. He was never a boy to begin with. Simon wants to tell him he’s special, tell him why, but instead, he just opens his jaw uselessly, then shuts his mouth again.  // 'Missing scene' from 2x04 -  what happened after they cut away from Kieren and Simon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"he's beautiful."

All this time. Weeks of looking and the entire time, the First was right here, right under Simon’s nose; this soft, unassuming boy, defensive and shameful, endearing and stubborn as nails when he wanted to be. It shamed Simon in turn that he’d never thought it could be Kieren - would’ve gotten around to asking eventually, for the sake of ticking off boxes, and what then? When would that have been?

Kieren presses the cloth down the side of Simon’s face, dragging away orange in favour of mottled dead skin. Simon knows the answer: he would’ve found out when he was far too deeply in love with Kieren for him to be able to revere him the way he should. The way he already, minutely, does; his eyes are dry because he can’t bring himself to blink, lest Kieren with half-smeared makeup and his big, white eyes turn out just to be some kind of mirage. Kieren Walker was the First. He rose from the earth, the winds howling around him, and he rose alone.

“Kieren,” Simon murmurs, breaking the deep monotony with which Kieren is cleaning his face. He seems less a boy now, all that coiled anger straightening out his spine. He was never a boy to begin with. Simon wants to tell him he’s special, tell him why, but instead, he just opens his jaw uselessly, then shuts his mouth again. And then opens it again: “I’m sorry about lunch.”

Kieren wrinkles his nose, shoulders relaxing for the first time since Gary sat down at the table. “Yeah, it was a stupid idea anyway.” Simon can see apprehension creeping across his mind, the way it makes Kieren’s knee shake even as he stands. He’s somewhere between regretting his outburst and not, Simon can see it. “Thank you, though.”

Kieren kisses him. Simon usually likens to it to something he took when he was still living and breathing, but now it’s more like touching God; and christ, Simon has never felt that kind of love this literally. He feels bad, distracted, confused, an ever-present electric current twitching him towards and away from Kieren in every separate second, until Kieren’s touching Simon’s ribs and breaking off from kisses gently, so gently, to say in a low, shaking voice, “Simon, I -“ He clears his throat. “I want to, uh.”

Primal instincts have a funny way of stripping away doubt. Oh, he has so many doubts. He cares about Kieren, weak for him in the bones, finds him a frustrating mess of beauty that Simon wants to change for, but he’s the First, the First, the First, he’s so much bigger and more important than both of them - but doubts over whether or not Simon should be here, in this moment, in this bedroom with the First saying _I want,_ they wash off his skin because it’s Kieren Walker who wants.

Simon feels nerve endings tingle at the tips of his fingers, and he pulls Kieren in, kissing him until he can taste coverup and he’s rucking up his shirt, pushing off jacket, hoodie, over shirt, then off comes his own cardigan, and getting ahead of himself, he starts to undo his own shirt until he realises Kieren has stopped a bit, arms bare, chest rising and falling unsteadily.

Simon wonders when the last time Kieren had bare arms in front of anybody was. Certainly he doesn’t do it on purpose, always quick to cover up his scars, tugging absently at his sleeves when he realises they’re on display or gets conscious about them. Simon takes a step back, takes Kieren’s hands in his, so that Kieren’s palms and wrists are facing upwards, pale and bare.

“You’re so important, Kieren,” he says, and before Kieren can question the meaning of that he lifts Kieren’s wrists and kisses them both, pressing blesses to lumpy stitches and blackened skin. “And gorgeous.”

He does finish taking his shirt off then, starkly reminding Kieren that he isn’t alone with his scars - Simon’s arms are littered with track marks and scarred veins, one spot in the crook of his elbow livid and angry even after all this time, the final mark. Kieren just mutely observes each mark on Simon’s body, then steps back and pulls off his t-shirt.

Simon’s turn to be apprehensive, as much as he wants to dive towards that expanse of pale skin, as much as he wants to pattern Kieren’s sharp collarbone with suck marks and give in to all that wanting. “There’s another scar you should see,” he says, because this isn’t a fair thing to just spring on someone, and quietly, he turns around.

Kieren’s inhale is audible. Simon closes his eyes; waits for the horror. 

It doesn’t come. Kieren touches his shoulder blades instead, draws his hands inwards until he’s exploring the outward edges of the frayed wound. Skin too damaged to fix together. Simon was just glad it didn’t hurt anymore.

“I can see your _spine_ ,” Kieren whispered, and it’s kind of a little bit of that horror, but Simon realises that it’s not directed at Simon. It’s directed at whoever did this. Simon knows instantly what Kieren sees in the black depths of Simon’s wounds: he sees Victus, he sees the HVF, he sees mistreatment and hatred and a lack of basic humanity.

Simon turns back around and kisses Kieren until he’s all love again. He doesn’t want to think about Kieren opening up to righteous fury, not right now. It’s glorious, but it can wait. It’s the last thing Simon wants to feel, anger. Today has already been so permeated with it, and there’s only so much that even Simon can take before he feels like he’s on the edge of collapse. Finding the First has definitely taken him to that edge.

They find the bed, find their way onto it, find their way to a point where clothes have been discarded entirely and they’re just naked, regarding each other carefully, their cover up smeared and smudged - handprints of orange transferred from throat to hand to hip, and then the first, careful touches come. Simon leads, encouraging Kieren to follow, until they’re breathy, sighing, stroking fingers against the lengths of each other’s cocks, limbs entangled at every possible point.

It’s not enough; Simon knew that, sees it more now in Kieren’s look. He feels it too. He wants everything from Kieren, whilst he can have it.

This takes some time. It’s been a while. Simon doesn’t exactly carry lube around with him and Kieren flounders, excited but at a loss, so Simon slicks up two fingers in his mouth and uses them to open himself up, nestled back in his pillows and working his wrist at that awkward angle whilst Kieren perches, breathless and in awe between Simon’s knees.

Then three fingers. That’s enough, he reckons, but the way Kieren watches him with wide eyes makes him play it up a little bit, arching his spine just so, groaning because he could probably get off just like this, just with Kieren looking at him.

He’d prefer not to though. Pillows get re-arranged, there’s some minute awkwardness that Simon eases away with a kiss, and then he’s groaning again, this time because Kieren’s fucking him, slow and deep, and fulfilling. Simon drags Kieren down closer, deeper, nuzzles against his throat and kisses it between sharp breathing. When Kieren moans, Simon can feel it vibrate against his mouth.

This is where Simon wants to be. The world falls away like this, the bungalow crumbles around them; it’s just them, this bed, this room, the sound of snow falling heavy on the streets outside. Simon needs nothing else, nothing more than Kieren’s hands touching his hips, thighs, cock, Kieren’s mouth kissing his jaw. Just this one perfect moment.

The answer, Simon thinks, to what normal people do, is this: love, blooming in a moment that he wants to crystallise. If the roof fell away too, maybe the cold would freeze them together like this. 

“Kieren?”

Kieren’s lips drag against the corner of Simon’s jaw. One hand squeezes against Simon’s side, but the other finds Simon’s hand where he’s been balling it in the sheets and covers it. “Yeah?” He’s breathy, lucid, hips rolling hard in a rhythm now he’s found it.

Simon forgets what he was going to say. Instead he just repeats Kieren’s name, moans it out, lets it slip off the tongue, then insists on another kiss, before he’s worrying his teeth gently against Kieren’s neck and feeling the need to come building like a fire in the pit of his belly.

Kieren comes first, knees sliding forward on the mattress, coiling his body around Simon’s as he whimpers through his release, lip catching in his teeth. Simon’s own arousal is spurred on by the action, by how gorgeous Kieren looks, and he moans, head tilting back. He grabs Kieren’s hand with one of his own and jerks himself off between their bodies with the other; Kieren helps, once he’s caught his breath, pushing Simon’s hand away and working his own up and down the length of Simon’s cock. His chest still heaves, and his beautiful golden-red hair is a mess atop his head, and his white, blank eyes have more life and fire in them than Simon has seen in anybody.

His whole body tenses when he comes, throat choking up so that he barely makes a sound, and then as hard as his orgasm hit, it passes, leaving him sensitive and sore and breathlessly smiling as he moves to settle down with Kieren, combing his hair with his fingers and kissing him, silent thank-yous and appreciation all round.

The snow is piling up outside. They’re a little cold and stiff, so Simon wrenches the covers from under them and buries them into them instead, and down they curl, lying side-by-side and facing one another in the orange gloom.

Kieren goes to sleep without saying anything. His lips, however, are just a little curved at the corners. Simon lets him drift into deep sleep, and then his job as a Disciple begins to bother at the back of his mind, preventing him from reaching the same rest. He reluctantly gets out of bed, travelling naked into the bathroom to clean himself up. He’ll be back before Kieren realises that he’s gone, he rationalises; the moment doesn’t have to be over.

He just has to make a call.


End file.
